


Ink Stained Hands

by KryOnBlock



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Not beta read we die like Phil did in S2, Phil Needs a Hug, Phil and Ranboo deserve the world, Phil really doesn't want to admit that he is ready to adopt ranboob huh?, Phil-centric, References to Philza's Hardcore Series, implied found family, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29147922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KryOnBlock/pseuds/KryOnBlock
Summary: It wasn’t a bullet journal, with pretty words and cute drawings; no, it was simply disorganized plans, things he saw during the day he wanted to remember, the pressed leaf of the last branches he had to put up in the Ocean Monument, the first pebble of the long tunnel he excavated by hand, the first flower he found growing outside of his house. The journal was messy, ink spilling over half the words sometimes in his haste to write down ideas before they left.(...)There is simply too much to do, too much to say, to work on, for him to waste hours in simply keeping a journal.-----------Phil used to journal. Ranboo does. Sometimes, bonding can simply be the act of looking for the other.
Relationships: Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo & Philza, Ranboo & Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Philza (mentioned)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 217





	Ink Stained Hands

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by the lavender discord and our great overlord exceed, who gave the prompt jounralkeeping and i fucking grab and booked it.

There is something to be said about writing.

The scratch of a quill on paper, the soft leather that bounds the book, the fresh smell of ink. Phil isn’t sure if there are enough words to convey how much he likes it. He used to keep a book, a journal to be honest, thick and dense, where he detailed each little thing that happened in his old world.

It wasn’t a bullet journal, with pretty words and cute drawings; no, it was simply disorganized plans, things he saw during the day he wanted to remember, the pressed leaf of the last branches he had to put up in the Ocean Monument, the first pebble of the long tunnel he excavated by hand, the first flower he found growing outside of his house. The journal was messy, ink spilling over half the words sometimes in his haste to write down ideas before they left.

He had picked the hobby out of boredom, so he wouldn’t forget what ideas he had, and it slowly had grown into something else, where he simply wrote down what exciting thing had happened that day, small drawings of how he envisioned his builds to be, snapshots of peace where he lounged in the sun and breathed in the fresh air.

And it had become so much more than that, a method to destress from his hostile home, to forget for a few hours how dangerous it was to stay alive. He wasn’t ashamed in saying that probably journaling had helped him stay sane during his time in isolation during Hardcore, when no soul would be nearby and the nearest mob that didn’t want to kill him simply didn’t speak his language more than to simply trade.

He had spent hours on that book, the leather cover decorated with small intricate carvings he did when he couldn’t fall asleep. The small musings, that helped detangle his thoughts when everything felt like too much. The small tokens that made him realize how far he had come, when loneliness pierced his heart, that made it all seem worth it.

Keeping the book had been… a saving grace, so to say, in that world. It had a very fond spot in his memory for sure.

But after, well… after the whole thing of dying, the baby zombie and the spider? Well, he simply fell out of the hobby. It simply bringed too many bad experiences back, made him upset, made him remember all the progress he had lost, it simply… Wasn’t compatible anymore, anytime he tried to pick up a book to write in his new world, the quill would stay still no matter how much he tried to force himself to write, the ink spot growing bigger and bigger as he pressed the tip against the paper, until all the pages were stained and unusable. He resorted to simply keeping a small stack of loose paper where he would write down his ideas and keep until it was done, then burning the paper.

At first he proposed to himself it would simply be for the first months, as he mourned his home and tried to get used to this shiny new world and its dangers, and he would pick it up again. Then, he told himself he would pick it up after he finished the Nether Void, something that never happened, as the days stretched into weeks, into months and he lost sight of the promise he once made himself.

And now, he doesn’t think he will, muses bitterly, as he looks out of the window of Techno’s cottage (his home, to be honest at this point). He had ended up leaving his world, when he finally received the green light to join this damned server. And now? He doesn’t think he could leave, not until every loose string has been tied up or cut loose. 

There is simply too much to do, too much to say, to work on, for him to waste hours in simply keeping a journal.

And it is dangerous, he can now realize, watching from the corner of his eye the small hut pressed against the wall of the mountain in the distance. He had seen the enderman hybrid struggle with the book, seeing him walking constantly afraid of it being stolen, being read. Information, in the end, was power, was  _ control _ ; and Nether knew this server's members desperately craved it.

This place was so different to any other server he had been on, whole factions rising against the other, brother turning on brother, sister against sister, partner against partner. A place where “dog eat dog” truly reigned, everyone scrambling and fighting at the slightest provocation. That wasn’t to say that people weren’t kind, that there wasn’t care, wasn’t love in this world. 

It simply… was overshadowed with all of it.

He had seen it firsthand, shackled in his own home as he watched his closest friend be executed, watching the country that had killed his son morph well beyond salvation. And maybe, he had seen it in himself too, as he stood over raining tnt and laughed at it all, watching destruction rain down with such emotion it felt as if it was a nightmare.

Phil won’t lie to others, he  _ is _ a little trigger happy. A little… too much (A little too unusual), but he has believed himself to have grown soft over the years, focusing on building, on creating, on enjoying.

_ Well,  _ He thought grimly to himself as he turned around to go to the kitchen,  _ Nothing like war to kill kindness. _

He breathed in and out, and walked towards the kitchen, putting the kettle on and starting to search through the cupboards for some tea. He scrunched his nose at the several bags of lavender, and cursed Techno once more for his obsession with the plant. Sure, lavender helped with anxiety, but he was pretty sure that drinking solely lavender won’t help that much, one grows numb to that right?

With a shrug, he searched deeper, grinning triumphantly at the small bag of cinnamon, the only one remaining it seemed. He made himself tea, and proceeded to leave a mug out ready for Techno, knowing his friend will surely wake up in any moment now. While the piglin had a very bad sleeping schedule, he had slowly been managing to correct it, as best as one could in the grand schemes of things.

The air was cold outside, but not unbearable, and he quietly sat down on the stairs, hands curled around the mug as he watched the mid morning sun rise quietly through the skies. It was peaceful, for now, and he refused to let it go. 

Some part of him longed for paper, for a quill to write in, to finally put his thoughts into paper and try to process them. But the more logical part flinches back at the idea. It would be too dangerous, especially now, when almost half the server is either rooting against him and Techno or is actively against them. No, it simply would be too much.

It would be a big flaw, to even dare to indulge. 

Sure, he knew enough galactic so he could, in theory, enchant the book so it never leaves his person, or so it always comes back to him, or so it cannot be read by others. But it is still a risk, he at least, is not willing to take. Not when everything is so tense, like a bomb waiting to go off. No, it isn’t the moment to think so selfishly, when doing it could, in theory, get Techno into danger.

“Hi Phil!” Screamed a voice from the distance, and Phil turned, perplexed, seeing Ranboo approach the house, covered from head to toe in heavy netherite armour and waving excitedly.

Philza smiled, letting his tense wings relax, and waved back, standing up and brushing the snow off of him.

“Heya mate!” He greeted happily, opening the door and letting the hybrid inside, who almost instantly proceeded to take off his armour and sit right beside the fireplace. “What brings you here today?”

“I wanted to greet you! I saw the lights on, and since I was already awake, thought I could come over in case you needed an extra pair of hands”

Phil laughed, warmed at the thought, and brushed him off, searching for the chocolate milk they usually had in store for when the other decided to visit.

“Nah, don’t worry. I don’t have much planned for today, to be honest” He commented freely, as he put the milk on the stove and retrieved another mug “Feel free to hang out and keep me company”

“Oh! If it isn’t a problem?” Ranboo said, as anxious as he was the day he had arrived at the cottage with him now so long ago it seemed.

“Nah, you are fine mate” He signaled Ranboo to take a seat and poured the hot milk, passing the other the mug and going towards the chests.

He knew today Techno had plans for grinding in the Nether, but he was pretty sure the other was planning on going alone, if the secrecy with which he held himself last night while preparing supplies was enough to go off. There wasn’t any farm to take care of, as the piglin usually took care of the dogs and turtles, so he should look for something to do inside.

Humming, he searched through storage and smiled once he found some spinned wool. They could use a few more blankets, as the arctic winter was rapidly approaching, if he was right in his calculations. Bringing out the wool, and dragging the loom from the corner towards the fireplace, he sat down and started the work.

It was hard work, but gratifying, and Phil quickly lost himself in the repetitive movements, the only sounds filling the space those of the crackling fireplace and the scratch of quill on paper. He let the sounds lull him into complacy, sneaking a small glance to see Ranboo starting to write in his journal.

The quiet was interrupted by a small ruckus from the attic, a sound not too different to that of an anvil falling onto the floor, followed by a drawn out groan, the only clues to tell Phil that apparently Techno had woken up. He sighed and stood up, stretching until his joints popped (much to the apparent discomfort of Ranboo) and poured the hot water on the mug resting on the counter, watching Techno stumble down the ladder and offering him the hot tea, which Techno proceeded to drink in one swoop only to extend the mug out again, Phil sighing as he refilled the other’s mug one, two, three times, until Techno seemed finally awake.

They exchanged small pleasantries, as Techno changed clothes and put on the armour, Ranboo chattering away with the piglin, as he picked up the supplies. Soon enough, it was only Phil and the other in the cabin again, as Techno quickly disappeared in the distance towards the Nether Portal, after throwing an ender pearl in the stasis chamber outside.

Phil claimed his seat back on the sofa near the fireplace, starting to continue with the blanket, but now the sound of the quill was almost… Too loud to ignore, for some reason or other. Ranboo was furiously scribbling in, writing as if he was running out of time, and the blond sighed, dropping the spinned wool and letting the blanket in process on the loom unfinished.

He sat down on the table, and watched Ranboo write in his journal, the messy words barely readable for him. That journal was a danger, in truth, as Phil’s thoughts came back to mind. It was a breach in security, and in the wrong hands, it could easily doom them all, no matter what. Plus, it was the matter that both him and Techno didn’t know what Ranboo wrote in that book; they knew it was filled with his memories, but that never explained anything.

And Philza didn’t want to ask, the poor teenager seeming very stressed any time someone brought up his memory book. And the mere thought of even reading the insides was enough to make Phil shift uncomfortable, since it was literally Ranboo’s  _ memories _ in there. It would be too much of a violation of privacy to even ask, and Phil, while more adjusted than Techno in the social ambit, didn’t particularly want to make the other uncomfortable. Ranboo had explained, once, how personal it was for him; it wasn’t simply memories, it was emotions, it was everything he never wanted to forget.

He frowned, because this  _ was _ a problem, at the end of the day. 

After some time thinking, he sat up straight, suddenly, remembering what he once did with his own journal. He cleared his throat, watching Ranboo jolt, as if having forgotten he wasn’t alone, and looked at him across the table.

“Ranboo, tell me, what do you know about enchanting?” He asked, smile on his face, as he watched Ranboo frown and close his journal.

“Enchanting?” The enderman hybrid echoed, as if puzzled “Uh, the same as everyone I think?”

“So only the basic enchantments?” Phil tried to clarify, trying to not laugh at the more confused expression of him.

“You mean the, uhm, the enchantments from the enchanting table and such?” At Phil’s nodding he tilted his head “Yeah? Why do you ask?”

“So you know about enchanting armour and…?”

“Armour? That's it, right?”

“Okay, so I’m gonna guess that you don’t know” Phil nodded, mentally making a checklist on his head as he stood up and started opening chests to look for materials.

“Know what????” Ranboo asked, even more confused than before, as he watched the older bring back to the table multiple books, a sewing kit and box with crushed obsidian and lapis lazuli.

“Okay, so, you know how you can enchant armour because the enchanting table carves runes into them?” At the other’s nod, he continued, excited “Okay, this doesn’t extend to only armour. One can, in theory, enchant clothes, although that process is more harder. Now, I know you are very protective of your book, so I started thinking that maybe we could enchant your book with Curse of Binding or a variant, so it never leaves you?”

“You can do that????” Ranboo exclaimed, surprised, and Phil laughed. “Variants?!?!”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, okay, so, the runes for Curse of Binding are this ones” Phil proceeded to draw them on an empty page of a random book “One can modify it, if one knows enough Galactic, so the intended effects change. It still will be related to binding, but we could, for example, make it so it never wears off, so you respawn with it, or like, link it to your ender chest, so it goes there when you die”

Ranboo followed closely the instructions, eyes wide in amazement.

“To put the enchantment into something other than armour, one has to either carve it or sew it into it. Since it is a book, it is more simple to sew it, since carving is a little more complicated” Phil took a random book and picked up the needle and thread “One would sew the main keywords of the enchantment, and then filling the small indent the thread makes with crushed obsidian and lapis lazuli, sealing it later with wax. If you want, we could also carve the enchantments into the inner cover, so you have double assurance of it working”

And so they proceeded, Phil carefully instructing Ranboo on how to do it, as the teen practiced on the miscellaneous books first, until he got the hang of it, and proceeded to work in the memory book. Once it was finished, the book shimmered, and Ranboo dropped it, exclaiming when he saw it teleport back into his inventory. They did various tests, determining it a success when the book couldn’t leave Ranboo’s body more than for a few seconds nor could Phil take it or read it.

“Hope it helps mate” Phil said, putting a hand on the shoulder of the other “I know how important keeping a journal is, so I hope this helps you feel more safe”

“Thank you!!” Ranboo cried, practically throwing himself against Phil and leaning down to hug him close “Thank you thank you thank you!!!”

Phil laughed, and simply patted him in the back.

Maybe Phil won’t continue journaling, and will continue to hold loose pieces, a part of himself missing it. Maybe one day he will continue, but for now, he watches Ranboo write with delight in his book and goes back to work on his blanket.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Philza and Ranboo brainrot do be fucking me up
> 
> \--------
> 
> As always my tumblr is @villruu and my twt @vrillru, i sometimes talk about my fics lol
> 
> Also, AO3 statistics show that only a small percentage of you leave kudos, comments and bookmarks, so if you could do them, i would appreciate it a lot. It really helps the story out, and you can always eliminate them later. And if you like my stuff, i have written some more fics you can check out if u want :]


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